Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Tedi
Tweetie doesn’t take long to get me on the mattress, and as I lie beneath him, my fingers tangle in his wavy blond hair. His weight presses me into the mattress, solid and familiar, and despite everything—the years, the distance, the heartbreak—I still fit against him perfectly, like I always have.
We pause, breathless, just long enough to stare at each other.
A slow smile tugs at my lips. “Are we accepting that we have zero self-control?”
He smirks, his calloused palm sliding up my thigh. “I like to think it’s more that we’re romantically fated.”
I laugh. “So, our story will be you tripped over your own shoes and fell on top of me?”
“And you couldn’t resist me as soon as you felt my impressive length snug against your stomach.”
I give him a look. “Impressive?”
He grins like the cocky bastard he is. “Don’t deny it. I bet you haven’t had anything close since.”
He’s right. Tweetie is definitely gifted in that department, both in the equipment and how he uses it.
His hand skims under my shirt, fingers grazing my skin, and suddenly, the teasing isn’t so playful anymore. His touch slows, as if he’s memorizing my body all over again. “I missed you,” he says, his voice raw and quiet.
My heart clenches. The air between us shifts, the weight of everything we haven’t said, everything we still feel encroaching on us. I swallow hard, tracing my fingers along his sharp jawline. “I missed you too.”
And then he kisses me deep and slow, stealing my breath the way he always has. His hands roam over me, strong and sure, as though I’m a map he’s studied all his life. The heat between us flares, electric and familiar, as if no time has passed.
I’m lost in him. Lost in his mouth and his taste and his touch. How have I gone this long without this? He’s pushing my arms up, stripping off my shirt while my hands run up his back to get his shirt off at the same time.
Thump.
We both freeze.
“Did something just fall?” I ask, lips still against his.
He sighs, forehead dropping against my shoulder. “I think I knocked your clock over.”
I laugh. “So your hand-eye coordination only works on the ice.”
He scoffs, lifting his head and narrowing his eyes. “I have elite reflexes.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah? Then explain why you got hit in the face with a puck last season.”
He hums and kisses me briefly before shedding my shirt, then his. God, his chest is even more impressive than it was three years ago. My eyes feast on his beauty, and when they meet his again, he’s smirking. So arrogant.
“Just so you know, the puck in the face was an accident.”
“Was it?” I quirk my eyebrow. “From what I heard, you were chirping at McIntosh so much he took a slapshot at your head just to shut you up.”
His eyes narrow. “Good to know you’ve been keeping tabs on me.”
I shrug. “It’s my job.”
He groans, shaking his head. “Keep telling yourself that.”
I grin, sliding my hands over his broad shoulders, my fingers skimming his scars and bruises from the way he gives his all every game. “You love it.”
His gaze darkens, lips quirking. “You know what I love?”
He flips us suddenly, lifting me on top of him with his ridiculous strength. My fingers run down the curves and valleys of his chest. His body is solid muscle, years of training carved into every inch of him. He watches me touch him, and as my eyes meet his, I see how much desire fills them, and I forget how to breathe.
I swallow. “Uh…what was the question?”
He laughs, shaking his head. Inching up, holding his weight on his elbows, his lips brush my jaw, slow and teasing, before trailing down my neck.
“You have no idea how many times I’ve thought about doing this since you got to Chicago,” he murmurs against my heated skin.
I shiver. “And yet, you tried to act like you hated me.”
“It’s a defense mechanism. You know that…” He lifts his head, eyes locking onto mine. “If I recall, you weren’t too happy with me either. Although I knew you wanted me. How much willpower did it take for you to walk out of that room in Peeper’s that night?”
I hesitate. “None at all.”
His gaze stays steady. “So that shudder down your spine was just a cold draft?” He drags a finger down my spine, and the same shiver racks my body.
I swallow, my fingers curling on his chest. “It’s winter in Chicago.”
He exhales slowly, brushing his nose against mine, breathing me in. “You knew we’d end up here.”
Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve spent years pretending I’ve moved on, only to realize I never really had.
I bite my lip. “You still talk too much.”
His smirk returns. “You love it.” And before I can argue, he kisses me again, deep and exploring, but pulls back as it’s getting good. “Admit it now?”
“Nope.” I inch back and unbutton his pants. “You’re wasting time when you could have me naked.”
He flips me again. “You always were the smarter one of us.”
As his pants are splayed open, I can see a glimpse of his boxer briefs as he sheds me of my leggings. He stands at the end of the bed, staring at me as though he still can’t believe I’m here. He pushes his jeans down his legs, revealing his thickly muscled thighs and the bulge straining his boxer briefs.
“Tell me you have a condom or, even better, a box of them?” he says, putting his fingers on either side of his boxers, tugging them off his hips and down his legs.
I lick my lips, feeling like a starved woman from the first glimpse of his length in three long years. “Tweetie Sorenson doesn’t carry a condom around with him?” I tease, and he lifts his eyebrows.
“The only woman he wants to have sex with had a boyfriend until about two hours ago.” He puts one knee on the mattress and stalks up to me.
“I’ll give you that one.”
He laughs. “Figured you would.” He kneels between my legs, running his finger along my red lace panties. “I think someone was thinking about me when they got dressed this morning.” He dips his finger under the elastic, and I shiver when his finger grazes my pussy.
“Maybe Decker likes red.”
His eyebrows lift and his mouth thins. “Not funny, Tedi. Want me to deny you an orgasm?”
I chuckle and sit up on my elbows. “It was a tasteless joke. I apologize.”
“Look how far we’re coming already.”
I fall back to the mattress and watch him take off my panties, dragging them down my legs.
“I’m going to try really hard to control myself here.” He lowers to the mattress, sandwiching himself between my legs and placing my thighs around his shoulders. “But I can’t make any promises.”
“Still talking,” I say.
He chuckles, then slides his tongue through my folds. My back arches off the mattress, and he laughs again. That was the shock factor because he lifts my leg, casting feather-light kisses along my inner thigh.
“I love these legs.” He squeezes my calf with his large hand.
“You love them wrapped around your waist.”
He peeks up at me. His long, dark lashes just add to his sex appeal. “Don’t worry, babe, I’ll fuck you up against the wall before the night is over.”
“Another promise?”
He lays my leg over his shoulder, mimicking the kissing on the other leg before his face is between my thighs again. With the first twirl of his tongue, my head falls back, and my eyes close from the sheer bliss of his mouth on me.
He trails his tongue from my clit to my opening, the tip tracing my center as his hand winds over my leg to the apex of my thighs. His thumb plays with my clit as his tongue continues its pleasure-seeking path.
My hands fall to my sides, gripping the comforter. I can barely keep my eyes open, but I want to watch him. Those little glimpses he always gives me, as if he wants to watch me enjoy what he’s doing, gets me even hotter.
The tip of his finger rims my entrance, and the fingers that were on my clit splay across my stomach, keeping me from moving around.
“God, Tweetie,” I beg, needing more. Needing him to take me to the place only he can.
“Just God works.”
I glimpse down, and his teasing blue eyes only get me there faster. I forgot how much I missed this.
He doubles down and sucks on my clit while two fingers plunge and play inside me. My hands grip the comforter until my knuckles ache. Without any more smartass comments, he works me so good that I’m on the edge in seconds and leaping over it minutes later.
Bliss scatters through my body as I cry out—a mix of his name and gibberish until I’m left panting and staring at the ceiling. Picking up my head, seeing my juices on his chin, I only want him more.
“Didn’t anyone tell you to say thank you?” He laughs and crawls on top of me.
“You should be thanking me.”
“Touché.” He kisses me briefly. “Now where are the condoms? Otherwise I can’t thank you properly for letting me go down on you.”
I wrap my arms around his chest, not wanting to let him go. “Top drawer of the nightstand that you knocked the clock off of.”
He wiggles out of my embrace and stretches across the mattress, opening the drawer. “Gonna be honest, don’t love the easy access.” I hear him tear from the strip of condoms. “And I see you haven’t been with anyone with as impressive of a dick as me?”
He gets on his knees, and I watch him open the condom wrapper and roll the condom down his length. “Were you hoping for dust on the box?”
“Expired would have been better.”
I place my hand on his thigh, and he weaves his fingers through mine, our gazes holding for a minute as if it sucks that we allowed all this time to pass while we were apart.
“Me on top?” He blows out a breath, deflecting the moment with humor. “My job is never done.”
“Oh my god, just fuck me already.”
He gives me a wicked grin and pushes open my legs. “I should make you ride me so I can suck on your tits.”
“Next time. After we fuck against the wall.”
He looks down at his dick. “Man, she’s already got a honey-do list for us.”
Then the humor fades as he moves over me. Leaning down, his lips brush along my collarbone, lingering for a moment before he moves lower. The softness of his lips on my bare skin feels like a secret he’s savoring and discovering. I inhale deeply, my fingers finding their way into his hair, gently pulling him closer, silently urging him on.
Tweetie kisses a path down my body, his touch tender and slow. I can’t help but melt under his attention. A shiver runs through me as his hands glide over my sides, moving with a steady rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart. He traces the tattoo of his name with one finger, and his gaze flicks up to meet mine. In his, I see nothing but the weight of the love that still lies between us.
He rises back just as slowly as he moved down until our faces are aligned. “You’re beautiful,” he murmurs.
His fingers dance along my body, and a soft gasp escapes my lips. The way he touches me, so carefully, so deliberate, makes me feel as though I’m the only thing in the world that matters to him. With each kiss, each caress, I’m reminded of what we were together.
His tip pushes against my opening, and he slides in an inch before he kisses me and slides in another inch. Once he’s fully inside me, he gives me the moment I need to adjust.
“Take a minute, I know it’s a lot.”
“Tweetie!” I exclaim, and he laughs, sliding out and back in.
He doesn’t joke anymore as he falls into an easy rhythm in and out of me, casting kisses along my face, my neck, and my ears. His breath rattles in my ear, and I grip his shoulder blades, then lower until I grab his muscled ass and urge him to push into me harder.
He increases his pace, plunging inside me over and over. My breathing hitches when his mouth falls to my breast, taking my nipple into his hot mouth, and it’s all too much. Him, the sensations all over my body. My orgasm comes again, swiftly and without warning, but I hit a crescendo so far gone, I wonder if I’ll ever move away from this state of euphoria.
“God, I love watching you come. I love being the one to make you come.” He crashes his lips to mine, and I hold his chest to me, never wanting this moment to end.
He thrusts into me over and over, whispering sweet things about missing me, being lost without me, and how he finally feels found again until he stills inside me and comes on a curse.
His breathing is jagged as he comes down, laying his weight on me and kissing me languidly without any rush. Minutes later, he lifts his head.
“Thank you,” he says, laughing as he grows soft inside me. With a chaste kiss to my lips, he slides out of me and goes into the bathroom.
I follow him and wait for him to dispose of the condom and clean himself. He stands and waits for me.
“What are you doing?” I ask, waiting to go to the bathroom.
“What are you waiting for?” he asks.
“You to leave.” I motion toward the door.
His forehead wrinkles. “Why?”
“So I can go to the bathroom.”
He crosses his arms and leans against the counter. “Go.”
I walk over and turn him to face the door. “Yeah, we’re not there yet.”
“I’ve seen you pee plenty,” he fights me, walking forward.
I shut the door on him, flicking the lock. He laughs, and god, how I missed that sound so much. More than I’ve been able to admit to myself over the years.
I exit the bathroom a few minutes later, and he’s got his boxer briefs on and his phone in his hand. “So, what do you think? Chinese or pizza?”
It’s always zero to sixty in no time with us.